


Throwing In The Towel

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-16
Updated: 2007-06-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean nodded. “You know, Dad would have given you extras with his belt for arguing about a spanking,” he said conversationally. “I’m a hell of a big brother, though, so I’m going to ignore it as long as you get your butt over here by the time I count to five. One.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Throwing In The Towel

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gen discipline fic, and does contain the spanking of a 22-year-old Sam Winchester by his brother. If you don't like, for God's sake, don't read.  
> I own nothing, as ever.

And for one heart-stopping moment Dean thought Sam hadn’t heard him, wasn’t going to get down in time. But just as Dean’s mouth parted in a horrified scream, Sam dropped. The claws ripped the air where his chest had been a second earlier, and the beast crashed to the ground. Still unable to breathe, Dean shot it with the tranquilizer gun, his hand barely shaking. “Cut her teeth out, Sammy!” he called.

The animal panted heavily, eyes glazing, but it made no move to stop Sam from bending over it with the knife. He grimaced as he sliced into the gum, cutting out all four canines. As the last one came loose into his blood-splattered hands, the shaggy creature began to transform. Within seconds a beautiful young girl, no more than sixteen, lay motionless on the floor.

Dean stepped over to the body and beheaded it per routine, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his chest. He bagged the head in a heavy canvas sack. Sam dropped the teeth into the sack wordlessly, not meeting his brother’s eyes.

“Let’s get the hell out of here before the cops come,” Dean said, his voice tight with suppressed fear and anger.

Sam nodded mutely, taking in the tension in Dean’s shoulders. He followed his brother meekly to the Impala, then stopped. “I shouldn’t get in the car, I’m covered in blood,” he said timidly.

“I’ve got towels in the trunk,” said Dean, popping it open and retrieving three standard white towels. “Took them from the hotel before we left because the ones where you have to do shit to the body are always messy.” Dean tried to sound normal, but his voice was still controlled enough that Sam knew he was faking it.

Sam accepted his towel and wiped his hands on it before opening the passenger door. There was no question of who was driving back to the hotel.

The drive took almost half an hour, but neither brother spoke. Dean’s head was still reeling as he tried to take in the sight of that animal lunging at Sam—Sam, who had been told to wait by the car after getting the girl’s brothers to safety. He gripped the steering wheel tight, ignoring his brother’s worried glances in the seat beside him.

For Sam’s part he knew how angry Dean was, how scared and how pissed off at being scared. He knew that when Dean did start talking, it probably wouldn’t be anything good. So he bottled his explanations and forced himself to stare out the window, knowing that Dean was doing the same.

When they finally reached the hotel, a rundown inn destroyed by its distance from downtown, Dean pointed to the lone chair in their room.

“I’m going to take my shower first, and I want you to sit right there, and don’t get blood on anything,” he added, “unless you want to be wasting a bunch of time and money getting it out.” He slammed the bathroom door behind him and Sam could hear him swear loudly. “Damn!” He re-emerged seconds later.

“Okay, we’re going to need more towels, so call room service and ask them to bring some up,” he said angrily. “Wash your hands first.”

Dean stood with his arms folded across his chest as Sam ran the warm water over his hands. He wished he could take longer, but hurried, trying to keep Dean from pacing and glaring.

“Damn!” Dean repeated once he was under the water, a little less emphatically than before. What the hell did Sam think he was doing, anyway? Why the hell would he put his life in danger like that? As the crusty blood washed away, Dean felt his heart rate and breathing return to normal. He also realized, scrubbing his fingernails, exactly how his father would have handled a situation like that.

Sam, sitting obediently in the chair, felt a little queasy. For all he complained about Dean treating him like a child, this was the first time since he left Stanford that he’d really felt like one. And, worse than that, he knew that this time he really had screwed up by coming back for Dean.

A knock sounded on the door and Sam jumped before he realized it was probably just room service. He peered through the peephole and saw a nondescript maid standing with a trolley full of towels. He opened the door just a crack, not wanting her to observe the line of salt across the opening.

“You want more towels?” she asked, smiling broadly.

“Yes, thank you,” he said. He smiled back, but it was obviously insincere. “My brother’s a little bit of a diva.”

She kept smiling, apparently unaware that his politeness was forced. “Thank you, sir, and have a nice night.”

Sam took the towels, shut the door, and returned immediately to his chair. He kept his hands in his lap, staring at the floor and feeling all of eight years old.

Dean left his shower a few minutes later, drying his hair as he went. He seemed like he was in a slightly better mood—at least less panicked—but he didn’t return Sam’s optimistic grin.

“Having fun in the shower?” Sam asked hopefully. “Took you long enough.”

“Well, I’m done and now it’s your turn,” said Dean, not rising to Sam’s bait.

“Fine…jerk,” said Sam.

But Dean didn’t say ‘bitch.’ He shook his head and pointed. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be calling me a jerk. I’d be getting your ass in the shower before your big brother decided to help it along.”

Sam blinked, surprised at Dean’s firm tone of voice. “Okay, Dad,” he said huffily, going into the bathroom.

Dean sat down on the edge of is bed, putting his head in his hands, “Jesus, Sammy,” he muttered. He wondered how their father had avoided strangling the kid growing up. He sure felt like it now.

Sam, feeling the lukewarm water (Dean had used most of the hot), was unable to appreciate the shower. The blood and sweat still present along his arms became a secondary concern compared with Dean’s words.

“He couldn’t really mean it,” Sam reassured himself. “I mean, it was just saying something sarcastic he thinks is cute, right? I mean, I’m 22, dude.” Even as he thought it, he knew it sounded flimsy. The last time he recalled his brother being spanked had been his own senior year in high school, when Dean was 21. “But Dean’s not Dad,” he reminded himself. “Dean’s not some sadistic soldier who thinks the only possible response to a mistake is a spanking. And that’s what it was, a mistake. An accident.” Sam thought that sounded good, but he was still in no mood to face Dean. Whether or not his brother was going to go all Terminator on his ass, Dean was upset and angry. At that moment, however, the hot water failed completely. “Son of a—” Sam yelped, jumping out of the way and smacking his head against the curtain rod. “Well, I guess that’s my cue,” he muttered. “Let’s face the music." Wrapping a towel around his waist, he opened the bathroom door.

He started walking over to his duffel bag, but his brother’s voice stopped him. “That can wait, Sam,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“Can I get some pants on first?” Sam asked with as much annoyance as he could muster.

“It would be a waste of time,” said Dean. Shit, shit, shit, thought Sam. “Now come over here.”

Sam walked back slowly to his brother’s bed.

Dean stood up. “Sit down,” he ordered.

Sam complied, but his mouth didn’t. “I’m still taller,” he pointed out snarkily.

“Which wasn’t such a good thing when that monster was coming at you with its claws,” said Dean, folding his arms across his chest again.

“It distracted it,” said Sam, looking around Dean’s waist as if gauging the possibility of escape.

“We had one goddamn tranquilizer gun, and the plan was for me to use it!” Dean barked. “And you look at me when I’m talking to you!”

Sam, caught off guard by how much his brother sounded like John Winchester, straightened up and sat at attention.

“That’s better,” said Dean. “We had a plan, Sam, and it didn’t include you playing decoy to the freaky bear thing. I told you to get those boys out and let me finish the job.”

“I thought you could use some help,” Sam whined. He didn’t like the direction this was taking, and sitting in a towel was becoming increasingly awkward.

“Sammy, when you came back into the cave you disobeyed a direct order,” said Dean. “And I don’t want to hear any of this crap about helping me. You were unarmed and the only goddamn thing you did was put yourself in danger. Oh, and screw up my kill. You’re just damn lucky I’m such a good shot. Now tell me what the hell you were thinking coming back there!”

Sam dropped his eyes again at the mention of screwing up the hunt, then raised them defiantly. “I got a text message from Dad,” he said angrily. “Coordinates. I wanted to tell you about it.”

It was Dean’s turn to be caught off guard, but he overcame it quickly. “We’ll talk about that later,” he said sharply. “It still could have waited ten minutes and you wouldn’t have disobeyed an order, wouldn’t have nearly gotten yourself killed. It was a one-man job and you were way out of line on that one.”

Sam jumped to his feet. “No” he said. “You’re the one who wanted to find Dad in the first place, you’re the one who gets out a ruler to measure exactly how high Dad wants you to jump. I thought you’d want to know about his latest orders but apparently I was wrong!” He took a deep, shuddering breath before continuing. “Besides, who are you to talk about me putting my life in danger? You’re the one who freaking electrocuted yourself! You’re always taking these stupid risks. And I was fine, right? The scary monster didn’t get me, so you can stop being such a tightass!”

“You finished?” Dean asked.

Sam glared at him. “And if you think I’m going to let you spank me you’re wrong.”

Dean sat down on Sam’s bed, opposite his brother, and patted his knee. “Come here, Sammy.”

“I’m not five and you’re not going to treat me like I am. This is bullshit, anyway. You’re such a hypocrite.”

Dean nodded. “You know, Dad would have given you extras with his belt for arguing about a spanking,” he said conversationally. “I’m a hell of a big brother, though, so I’m going to ignore it as long as you get your butt over here by the time I count to five. One.”

Sam’s eyes widened. Dean wasn’t buying his excuses….

“Two.”

Sam shot a quick glance toward the door.

“As much as I’d love to see you running around the hotel wearing a towel, I seriously doubt you’d make it down the hall,” said Dean. “Three.”

Sam turned his most pathetic puppy-dog eyes on his brother. They never failed him.

“Not this time, kiddo,” said Dean. “Four.”

A split second later, Sam was lying facedown over Dean’s lap, towel and all.

“Smart choice,” said Dean matter-of-factly. He looked down at Sam, who had already tensed up in anticipation. Their father always started spankings over clothes before progressing to the skin-to-skin phase, but Dean didn’t really see the point of spanking over a high-absorbency towel.

Sam groaned, feeling his brother’s fingers at the edge of the towel. “Dean…” he said, his voice catching a little. “Please, Dean, can we please talk about this some more…”

“Sorry, Sammy,” said Dean, “but I’m going to be doing all the talking here.” He yanked down the towel, letting it fall to the floor. He then wrapped his left arm around his brother’s waist, anchoring the taller boy’s body against his stomach.

The first smack caught Sam by surprise, but it wasn’t really painful. It glanced off his bottom in a half-hearted sort of way and he realized that Dean hadn’t spanked him—or probably anyone—in at least six years. The next spank came down harder, solid, and was quickly followed by a third. Dammit, this was the kind of spanking he remembered.

“You disobeyed an order, Sam,” said Dean, falling back into the rhythm of the spanking. “You know how important it is to stick to the plan when we’re hunting something, and you know you put both our lives in danger.”

“You would have done the same thing!” Sam protested, squirming as Dean’s hand came down hard and fast.

“No, I wouldn’t have,” said Dean firmly, not missing a beat. “You’re right that there have been occasions in the past where I’ve changed the plans and done something dangerous. But you know what? That was when there wasn’t another option. Like when I electrocuted myself, since you wanted to bring that up. It wasn’t a hard choice—get killed by the monster and let it follow you and those kids, or kill the damn thing, even if it meant risking my life. Because it was important.”

Throughout this speech Dean kept spanking, apparently not tiring, and Sam’s backside went from stinging to burning. “Ouch! Dean!” he protested, as Dean landed a swat to the top of his thigh.

Dean ignored the cry and focused the next two smacks in the same location, bringing tears to Sam’s eyes. “It was a situation that required me to think and act fast. I weighed the costs and benefits and the solution was obvious. But what you did today was the exact opposite. You ignored common sense, didn’t think about anything. You didn’t even have any weapons with you, for Christ’s sake! You just acted impulsively and you put both our lives in danger. And while I can tolerate that if it’s an honest mistake, barging in on a simple, one-man job like that is just stupid.”

“I know! I’m sorry!” Sam apologized quickly. He wasn’t going to be able to keep from crying in a minute…. He bit his tongue, aware that if he tried to say anything else he would probably break down.

“Glad to hear it,” said Dean, not relenting. “Now tell me what you did wrong.”

Sam took a deep breath that ended up as more of a sniffle, but was unable to bring himself to speak. He didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to let Dean see how much pain he was in because of a little spanking.

Dean returned the spanks to Sam’s thighs, concentrating on turning them as red as the rest of his brother’s bottom. “You know, Sammy, I can keep this up all day,” he said easily, noticing how Sam tensed up again as he started spanking the more sensitive area.

“Fine!” Sam said, and it came out in a choked sob. The tears started pouring down his face and his voice was cracking with every word. “I disobeyed an order and I interrupted your hunt without being prepared and I could have killed us both. Happy?” he spat.

“So why was that a bad thing?” Dean asked, temporarily stopping.

“The hell if I know!” said Sam thickly.

“Because our lives are dangerous enough without adding to it by not thinking,” said Dean. “Not sticking to the plan can be deadly and if I lost you over something like that—a clean kill gone wrong because of stupidity—I’d resurrect you so I could kill you myself. Got it?”

“Okay!” Sam said pleadingly. He would have agreed to anything to be let up from Dean’s lap.

“Stop putting your life in danger or you’ll give me another heart attack, and this time there won’t be any sort of faith healer to stop it,” Dean said firmly, releasing his brother. Sam felt Dean’s arm lift and immediately scrambled to his feet, turning around while he fumbled in his duffle for underwear and wiped a hand across his eyes angrily.

“Come here,” said Dean, and Sam turned again, still half-undressed, a look of caution in his wet eyes.

Dean punched him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about that, kid, but I mean it.”

Sam nodded. “Fine. But if you ever bring it up again…”

“I’ll look like some sort of chick,” Dean said, apparently horrified. “It’s dead and buried, Sam. Salted and burned.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

But for the rest of the night, Dean was unusually accommodating, letting Sam pick the restaurant for dinner and listening to his brother’s ideas about the coordinates near Great Barrington, Massachusetts.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam asked as they lay in bed, trying to catch a few hours of sleep before their early departure.

“Huh?” Dean grunted.

“Think we’ll find Dad soon?”

Dean’s eyes snapped open at that, but he kept his voice deliberately light. “Course we will, just as soon as these demons lighten up a little.”

“Is he going to be in charge when we find the thing that killed Mom?”

“Uh, yeah, probably,” Dean said. “Why?”

“You do a pretty good impression of Dad yourself,” Sam said drowsily.

“Yeah, well, you just follow orders whether it’s me or Dad giving them,” Dean said.

“Night, Dean.”

“Night, Sammy.”

“It’s Sam, jerk.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

“Night.”


End file.
